


Whiskey Lullabies

by ClassicPlastic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1950's, AU:1950's, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Everyone except Austria Hungary and Prussia are just mentioned, F/M, I'm Sorry, Kinda, M/M, Overdosing, Period-Typical Homophobia, PruAus - Freeform, Songfic, Suicide, aushun, how do I tag things, really gay, whisky lullabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicPlastic/pseuds/ClassicPlastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is short, but this time it was bigger than the strength he had to get up off his knees. And when we burried him beneath the willow, the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> He put him out, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette.

November 8th, 1952  
5:17 pm  
Ich liebe dich.  
Those three words. The three words that ended every letter strewn across the table. Every letter but one.  
Goodbye.  
It rang in Gilberts ears, despite the fact that Roderich had never actually said it.  
I’m getting married.  
Gilbird fluttered madly around his cage, sensing his master’s distress. Gilbert paid no attention to the small yellow bird, choosing instead to focus on the crumpled papers in front of him. A part of him knew that he should feel bad about trashing up his brother’s house. That the whiskey stain on the floor wasn’t going to clean itself up, but it was silenced but a much larger, stronger part of Gilbert. The part that yearned for Roderich every second of every day.  
I’m getting married.  
Gilbert couldn’t bring himself to hate Elizabeta. After all, it wasn’t her fault, not really. If she hadn’t said yes, Roderich surely would’ve found another girl willing to wear his ring. But god, did Gilbert want what she had. To able to wake up every morning next to him, to share idle chat over coffee in the morning and dinner at night, to be able to hold his hand in public. To kiss in public. It was all Gilbert had ever wanted, and it was all hers. Forever.  
Ich liebe dich, Gilbert Belisshimdt.  
Gilbert’s attention was once again drawn to the day old whiskey stain on the carpet. Ludwig was going to kill him. ‘Now, that’s a thought.’ Gilbert couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that fell from his stained lips.  
Stained.  
Stained with alcohol. With his own sick desires. With Roderich.  
Goodbye, Gilbert.  
The pistol lying under the table looked so shiny and attractive right now, Gilbert could almost cry. But oh, no, Gilbert had cried his last tears long ago. He had cried his last tears that day, exactly one year ago, when Roderick hadn’t reached for his hand under the table. The day when he had ducked out of Gilberts attempted kiss in the men’s bathroom. The day when Ludwig had dropped a letter into his lap, not even bothering to pause his conversation with Feliciano. The day when four words had shattered Gilberts entire world.  
Married.  
Gilbert was tracing the trigger of the pistol with his thumb now. When he had picked it up, he couldn’t say. ‘Guess it really does go to your head after a while.’ Gilbert set the shiny, beautiful pistol in his lap, and reached forward to close his fingers around the neck of a bottle. ‘One last swig. For old time’s sake.’ And one last swig did he take. Gilbert downed almost a third of the bottle in two gulps, impressive, even for him. The pistol took up its place in his hand, against his left temple. Gilbert spared one last look around the room, before closing his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath, and-bang.  
Goodbye, Roderick.  
And when Ludwig opened the front door exactly 17 minutes later, debating with Feliciano over how ‘No, German shepherds are the greatest dog breed, don’t you know anything, Feli, honestly’ nothing in this world could match the horror on his face and in his heart when he saw his brother, his loud, annoying older brother, slouched over on the sofa, pistol lying on the floor, and blood staining the far wall. Feliciano’s hands had flown to cover his mouth and stifle his scream, as Ludwig slowly made his way over to his brother’s corpse. The silence lasted for one more moment before-‘Feli, call 112!’ ‘I’ve already done it, ve!’ And, in all the commotion that followed, one slip of paper went unnoticed. One letter, lying apart from the rest, messy, scrawling handwriting leaving one drunken, dying message for the world.  
Ich werde ihn bis zum Tag liebe ich sterbe.

November 9th, 1952  
8:17 am  
Dead  
Roderich’s hand was shaking. Had it been shaking before he picked up the phone? He couldn’t remember. He knew that Ludwig was still talking, that Elizabeta was watching him from the table, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Roderich closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he tried hard enough, he could remember just how Gilbert had smelled. Like the cigarettes he smoked and the cars he worked on. A hand was on his shoulder, jolting him from his peaceful reminiscing. Elizabeta, her brow furrowed in concern, was gently shaking him, saying something. Roderich saw her mouth moving, but couldn’t hear a single thing. He didn’t want to hear. He pressed the receiver into her hand, muttering a quick “Take it”, and quickly strode from the kitchen. His piano was in the sitting room, like always, and Roderich slowly lowered himself onto the shiny, hard seat. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, could faintly hear Elizabeta conversing with Ludwig a room away. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry, Ludwig, that’s horrible! Are you doing alright?” He stared at the black and white keys, unable, for the first time in his adult life, to think of a piece that could capture his emotions. In fact, Roderich probably could’ve torn through every bit of sheet music he owned, or sat and composed for hours, and yet, still be unable to find a piece that could properly convey every emotion whizzing through his body and mind at that exact moment.  
Dead  
His Gilbert, Roderich’s Gilbert, was dead. Roderich’s Gilbert had shot himself in the head with his old .35.  
Dead  
Roderich ran a hand through his neat, dark hair, and felt a sudden twist in his stomach as realization finally sat in.  
Gone  
Gilbert was dead. The only person Roderich had ever been in love with was dead, his brains probably plastered all over Ludwig’s sitting room wall.  
Dead  
Elizabeta was shaking him again, albeit gently. “Darling, get up, please. We’ll be late for church. Roderich, please, I’m just as sad as you are.” Right. Today was Sunday, wasn’t it? Roderich shook his head slightly. “I’m not going” He didn’t look up from the piano. The bright white keys seemed so dull now. He felt Elizabeta retract her hand, probably to place it on her hip. When he finally looked up, her normally sparkling green eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “Roderich, you can’t just not go.” She stole a quick glance at the clock hanging on the far wall. “We have 7 minutes. I’m going to finish my coffee.” Elizabeta left his side in favor of the kitchen, and, after a few seconds, Roderich could hear her muffled sobs. They echoed in his head, so loud he didn’t even notice the tears that had started to make their own journey down his pale cheeks. Seven minutes passed. Then another seven. And another. Elizabetas sobs still echoed from the kitchen, and Roderich still sat at the piano, silent tears streaming down his face, images of Gilbert pulling him down for sweet, short kisses in the bathroom dancing through his mind. 

Roderich didn’t go to church that day. 

 

November 16th, 1952

 

 

12:17 pm  
“Sie waren gut, Bruder. Ich hoffe, dass Sie Frieden gefunden zu haben.” Ludwig ended his speech and steped off the platform, dwarfing the tiny priest standing by, waiting to repeat the same words he’d probably already said once that day. Ludwig rejoined the small group standing a little ways off from the willow tree. Elizabeta looked down and twisted her left hand in her dark skirt. Yes, she was mourning for Gilbert, of course. He had been her closet friend since childhood, um Gottes Willen! But she also mourned for Ludwig. Ludwig, her good friend and former colleague, who had just lost his only brother. His brother, who, despite being only three years older, had practically, raised Ludwig. The priest was speaking, but Elizabeta wasn’t listening. She couldn’t bring herself to listen.  
“Eliza.”

“Elizabeta.”

“Elizabeta!”

Elizabeta looked down. Her cousin Lilli was standing next to her, glancing pointedly at her taller cousin, then towards the nearby wooded area, past the willow tree. Her older brother, Vash, who was standing near Gilbert’s friend Antonio, was cutting his glance between the priest and Lilli. Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t seem happy.” she muttered. Lilli shrugged and sharply jerked her head toward the wood, her choppy hair flying like yarn. “Schau!” she whisper shouted, and, as Elizabeta finally turned her head towards the wood that Lilli seemed so insistent she look at, she caught sight of a deer. A large one, with huge, curved antlers and shiny, dark eyes. “They never come this close to people.” Lilli whispered, adjusting her black dress. Elizabeta barely even heard her. 

 

December 24th, 1953  
8:17 pm

One year.  
It had been one year since Gilbert…..passed.  
Killed himself.  
One year since Gilbert….killed himself. One year since Gilbert put that .35 to his head and pulled the trigger. One year since Gilbert’s brains had been splattered all over Ludwig’s sitting room wall. 

One year since Roderich had lost the love of his life. 

Cold.

Roderich was so, so cold. But Roderich wasn’t cold on the outside, no. He was cold on the inside. Cold in a way that only the fiery touch of a lover could fix. He had felt cold in this internal, unfixable way when he had woken up with Elizabeta in his arms that morning, and he’d feel cold that night, when he fell asleep with her sweet smelling hair in his nose. 

Elizabeta.

Roderich could hear her, right now, flipping through a book, trying to find a part that interested her. Sat across from Elizabeta, with the snow falling outside, Roderich could almost pretend that they were normal. That he was normal. But normal men didn’t fall in love with their girlfriend’s best friend. Normal men didn’t kiss other men in the bathroom, or make love to them in dirty hotels. Normal men didn’t marry said girlfriend to avoid being revealed as a ‘homosexual’ and locked away. Normal men didn’t want to die on Christmas Eve.

Normal men didn’t fall in love with Gilbert Belischimbt.

 

July 12th, 1954  
11:17 am

Alone.  
Roderich was completely, absolutely alone. Elizabeta was out at who-knows-where with Feliks, doing God-knows-what. Roderich was completely alone.

And he felt it.

He felt that heart-wrenching loneliness deep in his bones, all the way to his core. He felt it in the chill he’d felt since he proposed to Elizabeta. It never seemed to leave him, not truly. Sometimes he could ignore it, like when he was playing piano, or on the rare he would pretend that it was Gilbert in his arms at night, instead of her. But it never left. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. His insides were frozen on his wedding day, and his stomach filled with ice at Gilbert’s funeral. 

Gilbert.

God, Gilbert. Roderich missed him so much it hurt. He still had Gilbert’s photograph hidden in his pillowcase. It was the only one he’d ever kept, but it was the only one he’d ever needed. It was of Gilbert, at the shop, leaning on some car he’d been working on. His small yellow bird-‘Gilbird’, Roderich reminded himself-was nestled in his silvery hair. He was grinning wildly at the camera, moving to wipe his grease stained hands on his already filthy jeans. 

Filthy.

That’s what Roderich was. A filthy, lying ass, who had left Gilbert out to dry out of fear. Fear of being found out. So what if someone had found out? They’d have had their good times, so what did it matter? ‘Coward’, Roderich scolded himself. ‘You’re a lying, filthy coward.’ 

He was.

And at that exact moment, Roderich made a decision. He’d never been quite sure if he believed in a God, but if one did exist, Roderich hoped he would be merciful, and spare him Hell. Or, at least let him speak with Gilbert once he got there. The contents of the small, brown jar jumped and rattled as Roderich pulled it from the medicine cabinet. 

Sominex.

The bottle featured no label, but did offer a slight sticky sensation round the middle, where it had once resided. Despite the lack of instructions or dosage information, Roderich had a good idea of how many he’d have to take to achieve his goal. About two tablets would be enough to induce a peaceful sleep, three and one would sleep through their alarm clock. Six could land someone in the hospital, and twelve would ensure the taker would never wake up. 

Never.

Roderich made sure to pour out exactly twelve pills, before thinking better and adding two more, just in case the twelve didn’t do it. He downed two dry, before running the sink and cupping the water in one hand. Four more, then another four, followed by three. The last pill lied on the counter, too bright against the beige washroom scheme. Roderich didn’t feel dizzy. He could still call 112, if he wanted to. 

This didn’t have to be the end.

Roderich quickly scooped up and swallowed the last pill, dry, like the first two. 

The deed was done.

He stood there in the washroom for few minutes, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, before turning and walking, no, stumbling, into the bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, Roderich pulled the crumpled photograph of Gilbert from inside his pillowcase, and held it fast to his chest. The arm of his glasses poked awkwardly into the side of his head, and small tears were leaking from his eyes. As the medicine took over, Roderich began to fight for breath, quiet gasps disturbing the otherwise silent house. He turned his face into the pillow, shaking slightly, and let out a breathy sob. 

Roderich Eldenstien spoke his last words on July 12th, 1954, at 11:47 am.

"Es tut mir Leid."

 

July 20th, 1954  
4:37 pm

Elizabeta couldn’t breathe. It seemed like just yesterday she had been attending Gilbert’s funeral, quietly conversing with Vash and Antonio as they walked back to Ludwig’s house. And now the same fate had befallen her beloved Roderich.  
Too young.  
She was too young for this. She was only 27, but she had already buried both her best friend and her husband.  
Too late.

She had found Roderich with his face down in the pillow. She had screamed and shaken him, called 112 with her shaking hands , but it had been too late. 

Clinging.

He had been clinging to Gilbert’s picture for dear life. The black and white paper had been crumpled in his fist, pressed fast to his chest.  
“Eliza!”  
Once again, Lilli’s soft voice broke Elizabeta out of her daze. She was gesturing towards to tree line with wide blue eyes, her pale face slightly flushed from the summer heat. Elizabeta rolled her eyes and wet her dry lips. “Not now, Lilli.” Lilli sighed, rolling back her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full 4 foot 11. “Just look, Eliza. Please.” Elizabeta sighed and turned towards the trees, in the hopes of shutting Lilli up, only for her to speak again. “It’s them, Eliza. I know it is.” “They’re deer, Lilli. They probably just think someone will feed them.” Lilli shook her head. “They’re scared of people, Eliza, all of them are. See the one with the spots? I think that’s Gilbert. And the one with the crooked antler is Roderich.”  
Elizabeta allowed herself a small smile. “Maybe you’re right, Lilli.”

 

The two stags gently touched their muzzles together. 

“Maybe they’re finally together.”

**Author's Note:**

> And when we burried him beneath the willow, the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.


End file.
